A Compromised Compromise
by timunderwood9
Summary: When Darcy saved Elizabeth from tripping and falling on her face at the Netherfield ball, in a moment of mutual foolishness, they kissed each other passionately. And then they were seen by Mrs. Bennet and Mr. Bingley. Now the two have to marry, even though Elizabeth still thinks she hates Darcy, and Darcy still thinks Elizabeth's family is beneath him. Posting in Progress
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

During the first month after she became engaged to Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth placed harsh and sometimes resentful blame upon the rug in the Netherfield library.

This thick lush rug was made from the fur of a bear with the claws still attached. The unfortunate animal had been a victim of the newly minted baronet who built Netherfield. This dapper nabob, flush with the stolen wealth of the Indies (both East and West), killed the impressive animal during a hunt on the continent where such wild beasts yet roamed free. His wife smilingly nodded at her husband's manly exploits when he returned to merry green England with the rug, but disliking all forms of taxidermy, she stoutly refused to have it placed in _her_ drawing room, or her dining room, or anywhere else she liked to spend time.

This happenstance occurred many years before, but this baronet and his family were no more enthused by books than Mr. Bingley, to whom the baronet's great nephew had recently let the stuffy old pile so he could afford to spend all his time with lushly disreputable opera singers in an almost fashionable district of London.

In the decades since the brave continental quest to shoot the first owner of the skin and soft fur that made the rug had come to its successful conclusion, the rug had been removed and beaten for dust and thoroughly washed as needed, but had never been replaced nor used to any great point. Sadly for the baronet, after an incident that left one of the baronet's daughters with a small permanent scar on her arm, the teeth had been removed from the bear's head, and the claws declawed.

Elizabeth thought the rug delightfully grotesque when her eyes lit upon it while she spent an uncomfortable hour in the library with Mr. Darcy, during which he did not once lift his eyes from his book, even though Elizabeth, much as she was determined in her heart to loathe the man, was constantly aware of his presence. Her eyes going everywhere but Mr. Darcy absently fell upon the head of the bear, and she wondered if anyone had ever tripped over it. Such a thing did not belong in the middle of a library, but in a male den choked with cigar smoke and the smell of spilt port where women were never permitted.

Promptly Elizabeth forgot about the matter and the tripping danger, and returned to her pretence of reading as she paid attention to how Mr. Darcy paid no attention to her.

Mr. Darcy on the other hand never thought at all about the rug which would govern his fate, as his mind was brimming to the top with thoughts of the unsuitability of Miss Elizabeth Bennet the unsuitable.

Upon such objects can the fate of men turn.

Later Elizabeth changed her mind, and during their honeymoon she convinced Mr. Darcy that everything which happened was an inevitable consequence of their true emotions and fate, and they would have _somehow_ determined to marry each other, even if the presence of the rug had made this event sooner, and perhaps more tumultuous, than it otherwise would have been.

Chapter One

On the night of the Netherfield Ball, late in the evening, after the supper party had seen Mrs. Bennet thoroughly embarrass herself, Mr. Darcy took into his head that he needed to explain everything, or at least enough, about Mr. Wickham's proclivities to warn Elizabeth, in case she was on the course to fall into an infatuation with Wickham. Darcy's emotion towards Elizabeth was such that he did not believe the scoundrel could seduce her, but he did not wish to see her heart broken, and the more he thought about Wickham, the more he wished to explain and defend himself to _Elizabeth_ , even though it was below him to do so.

For the purpose of having privacy to allow Mr. Darcy to defend with private particulars his interactions with Wickham, the two of them sought private council in the library, with just a few candles flickering on the indiawood table for light. In this dim light it became almost impossible to see the grinning, toothless maw of the bear.

"Now _explain_. How can you possibly justify your horrid treatment of Mr. Wickham?"

Fitzwilliam Darcy stared with apparent coldness, but in fact from a deep well of passion, at Elizabeth Bennet, as the candle light flickered tantalizingly and seductively on her delicate face. The violins of the ball whispered sweet melodies through the closed door.

He should not tell the details about Georgiana, even though he trusted Elizabeth.

She had been strangely angry at him during their dance — Darcy was reasonably certain she became angry mainly because she realized he would not allow his passionate interest in her to override his capable judgement and good reason and cause him to make an offer to her. But if his real intention was to have nothing further to do with her, _why_ in the name of his good name whose tarnish he risked with this conference was he closeted alone with her during a ball?

However, Darcy reassured himself, he was not jealous of Mr. Wickham. Obviously Elizabeth could not care anything for Mr. Wickham, and that her violent defence of the slithering scoundrel sprung from her unquenchable desire for Darcy (and his wealth), and her knowledge that she would never gain her end.

She suffered, no doubt, from the same panging pain that pierced his own chest, but the weaker spirit of a woman could not handle such feelings with equanimity and a calm cold countenance.

Darcy realized as Elizabeth stared at him, her look changing from anger to something else, that he had not spoken in reply.

The candlelights seductively flickered in the deep mysterious mirrors of her eyes.

"He seduces women." Darcy's voice was low, involuntarily seductive. Darcy tried to roughen his voice. He needed to avoid any such hint of feeling or desire towards the unsuitable, yet perfectly desirable maiden. "For marriage he wishes a _fortune_. He can have no serious interest in you."

Darcy grimaced internally, as Elizabeth's eyes flashed angrily.

He knew enough of the vanity of women to know that telling them that any man was not the thrall of their love was certain to raise their ire. He had once attempted to explain the lack of interest on the part of a third party to Caroline Bingley, when she had been sufficiently repelled by his unresponsiveness to her flirtations to dangle her bonnet towards the heir of an earldom.

Miss Bingley had been quite displeased with him when he suggested that the Viscount had no interest in her. Unfortunately she then determined that Darcy's caution to her was a sign of his jealousy, and thus his interest in her, and he'd not been able to get her to stop simpering after his approval since.

No! He did not want to give Elizabeth false hopes. He should have found a different route to condemn Wickham than one which would inevitably lead Elizabeth to believe that _he,_ Darcy, had designs upon her.

"Proof." Elizabeth clenched her jaw, the muscles spasming with anger. "Proof. When you make such accusations against a man enormously below you, proof is expected."

"I have seen him at university, and when we were at Eton and in the village around Pemberley when we were young men. He is obsessed with women, and he has had surprising success…" Darcy trailed off. As a boy he _had_ been jealous of Wickham's ease with women. "From the instant he awoke to an awareness that a man could desire a woman," Darcy continued in a firm voice, "his sole pursuit has been the seduction of female virtues, and the destruction of female honor. And money. And opportunities to gamble. He also drinks a great deal. And he wasted his opportunity to study law."

" _Proof_. Something beyond your word."

"I am not in the habit of having my honorable word questioned. You have seen me and spoken with me, and my character is without question. What good have you seen of Wickham?"

"His manner!" Elizabeth then became still and quiet and spoke in a sharp voice that almost scared Darcy. "I have spoken with him, and judged him as friendly, and kind, and open. You have nothing but arrogance, and ungentlemanliness, and harsh words. And you wonder why I trust him more?"

"You _trust_ Wickham?" Darcy sneered and snorted. Obviously she just said _that_ to place a thorn in his socks to dig at the delicate skin.

"Why should I not? Your _father_ trusted him."

Darcy winced, remembering how he'd asked the servants to tell nothing to Papa as he lay dying about Wickham's seduction of a servant girl in a neighboring estate. It would have done his father no good to know, and Darcy wanted to spare his father the knowledge of his favorite's indiscretion and callousness — Wickham refused to even _speak_ with the girl after she named him. Perhaps he should have then taken the actions that would have led to Wickham being removed from the will and his life earlier.

Besides, in honor, Papa had promised Wickham enough that they owed Wickham some chance at education. Darcy was glad Wickham had wasted his chance.

"Ha!" Elizabeth cried. "You know your father was a better man than you."

"My father was a better man than us all. But my sadness is at the knowledge of how disappointed he would be in Wickham if he knew. I hid from him, in his final months, my knowledge of Wickham's true behavior. Of the women he had seduced, and of the—"

"What _proof_ do you have?"

Darcy sneered. "You are entirely decided against me. It is not my place to bow and scrape and prove to you the truth, when you do not wish to listen. You have been warned. You may set my character against his, and decide what to trust."

"Enough." Elizabeth angrily hissed, "I shall leave now, and have nothing further to do with you."

Her eyes told a different tale.

She didn't want to leave. They glared at each other, panting heavily.

Her eyes slowly widened. Somehow their faces were drifting towards each other.

Elizabeth bit her lip and stiffened her back and turning round, she angrily, yet blushingly, walked forward towards the door.

No. He couldn't let her leave, not while she was this angry at him. And not when she might still be Wickham's besotted thrall.

Elizabeth angrily trod away, stepping, without paying attention to it, past the ridiculous bear rug on the floor.

Whoooooops.

Darcy saw, like in slow motion, her pretty silver satin slipper catch on the bear's jaw. She fell forward, flailing her arms out and holding her hands in front to catch her.

Without thought Darcy shot forward. He grabbed her with his wide hands around the waist and caught her in his arms before she thudded on the ground.

Her body. In his arms.

Her sweet, warm, fragrant, panting body.

In his arms.

His fingers inches away from her breasts, the bare skin of her open back against his ungloved palm.

Their faces inches apart as he pulled her to stand without letting go of her.

Their eyes stared into each other.

They moved at the same moment, their lips pressed against each other, in a powerful kiss neither controlled. With desperate passion he pulled her tight against him, he gripped her bum and pressed her hips against his, he felt her soft length against his harder body. They kissed and kissed. A distant part of his mind knew that this was wrong, and that he did not wish to fulfill the promise to her that his body wished to make.

She whimpered as his tongue slid briefly along her sweet upper lip.

Darcy's brain was too full of her taste to do what he must — thrust her away, and tell her to never speak to him again, as he could not control himself in her presence.

They continued to kiss, wetly and hungrily, with more passion than he had ever felt before. His tongue licked along her lips and touched her tongue.

The door to library quietly opened, and there were long seconds of continued passionate kissing before Darcy registered that they were no longer alone.

And before he and Elizabeth could fully leap apart, Mrs. Bennet's shrill voice cried out, "Lizzy and Mr. Darcy kissing! Oh!"

Both Darcy and Elizabeth stared at her.

Mr. Bingley and Sir William stood next to Mrs. Bennet. Mr. Bingley's eyes were wide and he started to slyly grin. Darcy still gripped Elizabeth in his arms, her hand was still around his neck, and they both were still too startled to move.

Mrs. Bennet happily added, "Heavens! As good as a Lord! So much better than Mr. Collins! I would have made you marry _him_ , Lizzy, but clever girl, you knew you had better prospects."

* * *

Elizabeth felt numb, dizzy, and as if everything was surreal in the minutes after they interrupted the surprising kiss. A kiss during which she learned several important matters: First, she did not hate Mr. Darcy; Second, she _was_ handsome enough to tempt him; and finally, she _really_ did not hate Mr. Darcy.

Everything happened so fast, giving Elizabeth no time to contemplate those concerning revelations.

They were surrounded suddenly by well-wishers as her mother cried out again, again, and again that they were marrying. She looked at Darcy, terrified both that he would leave her suddenly jilted and with her reputation in tatters after three people saw them kissing passionately, and almost as scared that he would agree and make no objection.

Darcy's face was his hard mask, and Elizabeth suddenly realized that was his way of allowing him to think. He felt something — he felt as confused and conflicted as she did.

That was visible to her in his eyes somehow.

But he did not want everyone to see his confusion. He always, she realized in that moment of clarity, he always needed to appear in command, the grand, arrogant master of Pemberley, even if he was a young man, a young person, like everyone else. He looked like an arrogant aristocrat silently disdaining the congratulations of her neighbors, when that was _not_ what he felt at all.

But what was he thinking?

He did not deny that they were to marry.

Mr. Bennet came up, and he angrily looked at them. "What is this about?" He first looked at Elizabeth for an answer.

The room was too stuffy. Too many candles had burned too long, and all the fresh air was gone. The windows were all closed up against the late November cold. The band played a quick Irish air whose upbeat mood clashed with Elizabeth's torn feelings. She was numb, like someone who'd received a wound in a carriage accident, but was still too occupied stumbling around surprised at their survival to notice that they may not have survived.

"Mr. Darcy and Lizzy are to marry! Isn't that wonderful, Mr. Bennet! He's as good as a Lord!"

"Nonsense," Mr. Bennet replied in a rolling voice. "Lizzy doesn't like him at all. Mr. Darcy does not look at anyone except to disdain."

"I understand your surprise, sir." Darcy stood taller. The first words he had said since he caught her in his arms and kissed her. "Matters have been so arranged that I have no choice."

" _What_ occurred?

Elizabeth blushed and looked at her neighbors surrounding them. She couldn't exclaim in front of them all that it was an accident. A mistake. They didn't mean to kiss. At least Darcy would marry her, thus saving her the terrible embarrassment today of them knowing she'd kissed him like that without any agreement, or even words that were not angry.

"Miss Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy," Sir William spoke smilingly, "were caught in a quite pretty embrace when we went to enter the library. Your wife had wanted to talk with me and Mr. Bingley about plans for the next assembly ball, and—"

"Ha. I thought so." Darcy spoke firmly, as if something he had been certain of before was now proven to everyone's satisfaction. He stood tall in his fine green wool coat, with his surprisingly soft, yet well-muscled hands tightly gripped together behind his back.

"Thought _what_?" Mr. Bennet asked for Elizabeth.

Darcy looked towards Elizabeth and tilted his head with a sarcastic smile that somehow let her know exactly what he was thinking: he had decided that she had planned to be interrupted while kissing him by her mother, so that he would have no choice but to marry him.

Elizabeth ground her teeth so that her cheeks ached. "Ridiculous — I can tell what you are thinking — what you assume is completely wrong."

Darcy looked down at her from where he perched his head so high up on top of his shoulders. This time he _was_ being intentionally disdainful. There was a chatter as people chatted excitedly, the echoes bouncing off the wooden walls, but the bustling crowd allowed her, Papa, and Mr. Darcy to speak together in something vaguely like privacy.

Elizabeth felt faint. She could not believe this had happened.

"How did it happen that you two — two persons who so far as I knew had never spoken a friendly word to each other — came to _embrace_ each other in a room alone during a ball."

Darcy deigned not reply.

Mr. Bennet glared at his daughter. "Well, Lizzy? I expect better sense from _you_."

Elizabeth's blush travelled from her cheeks down her neck to meet another embarrassed flush at the top of her chest. "It well, just… well it just happened."

" _What_ just happened? There is more to this tale than you are telling so far."

"Mr. Bennet," Darcy spoke calmly, glancing around at their neighbors. "If you wish me to impart all the details of what your _daughter_ and your _wife_ have done to create this situation, since you make a pretence — perhaps a true pretence — of ignorance, I will disclose all to you, but in a private situation. Not here."

Mr. Bennet's face clouded angrily, but he curtly nodded back. "Tomorrow morning. In my study. I shall expect to see you promptly."

 **AN: So like usual the whole book is in Kindle Unlimited, so I can't publish it here until I remove it from there. But if you have a subscription, or want to buy the book, it is up on Amazon. If you want to find it, ideally search both the title and my name, Timothy Underwood since if you just search the title what shows up is an Amazon sponsored result, and I need to pay Amazon twenty cents or so if you click on it.**

 **Around either March or June 2020 I'll remove _A Compromised Compromise_ from Kindle Unlimited and publish it here. There will be one more sample chapter that I'll publish in a few days.**

 **Also, if you've been waiting for my other books, I just selected for _Too Gentlemanly_ to not renew its next KU term, so probably a couple of days after the current term ends on Feb 23 I'll start publishing _Too Gentlemanly_ here on fan fic net, so follow it, or follow me as an author if you want to get the updates when they start.**

 **Thanks everyone for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The next morning, Mr. Bingley laughed at Darcy when they both woke early (that is before eleven, the ball had continued quite late, almost into the dawn, the previous night), and he clapped Darcy on his back. "Damned fine girl, Miss Lizzy. Damned fine girl. Ha! You gave her a damned fine kiss."

Bingley grinned merrily at Darcy's sleep deprived glare. "No, no, no! This time _you_ are on the back foot, and I'll not let you forget it soon. But off to London on my business. I'll be back in just a few. Give your lady love, and her _sisters_ , especially her _one_ sister my greetings, and express eagerness to see them all again."

What could Darcy say?

He had determined during the night that he absolutely had no choice but to marry Elizabeth, and thus for appearances he must only show the part of himself which was entirely happy to do so. Darcy grinned thinly, "I was caught on the back foot last night. Quite, quite caught. I shall deliver your greetings to Elizabeth."

It was a contemplative half hour ride to Longbourn.

Darcy smiled sardonically to himself. Mr. Bennet had been quite surprised by the behavior of his daughter.

Upon arriving, before he had chance to even knock upon the door, Mr. Collins waddled out of the house. Clearly the overweight vicar had been waiting for him. "Mr. Darcy! Mr. Darcy! Esteemed nephew of my beneficent patroness."

Well, he could at least forgive her in part for that. She would have needed to marry Mr. Collins if she had not so neatly trapped him. And Mr. Collins was an _ample_ inducement to matrimony with _anyone_ else. Darcy giggled internally at his low pun — Mr. Collins was _large, and ample_ — but he only showed his amusement through a dry quirk of his lips that would over the years become unspeakably dear and familiar to Elizabeth.

But none of them knew that happy future yet.

"I have heard such rumors, such ridiculous rumors, as cannot be true. For as you know very well, you are to marry Miss Anne de Bourgh, the—"

"I am not going to marry Cousin Anne."

"Of course you are. The marriage was planned, as her Ladyship herself has discoursed many times, whilst in your cradles—"

Darcy had an image flash into his mind of Lady Catherine and his mother standing next to each other in the large and stable cradles they had built for their children, while Lady Catherine imperiously declared that he was to marry Anne, and his mother nodded along as the grand lady spoke. "Yes, that would be a very nice thing if it were to happen, but they really must _like_ each other."

"I have neither," Darcy said calmly, "obligation of heart, nor honor, nor family feeling, to tie myself to my Cousin Anne. I further have neither desire nor wish to do so. I will become extremely dissatisfied with you, and I shall communicate this dissatisfaction to my aunt—" The aunt Darcy was thinking of was Lady Matlock. After Lady Catherine learned about his marriage, for at least a six-month anything he might say to the detriment of her clergyman would be taken in the opposite spirit, that of a recommendation, by her. "—if I hear you to say anything about this supposed engagement to anyone at all."

"But… but I have already told the entire family that it is impossible you should marry Miss Elizabeth, who is nearly betrothed to me."

Darcy almost vomited at imagining Elizabeth kissing this toad the way she had kissed him. She kissed him deceitfully, yes, but also passionately, the previous night.

"So you see," Mr. Collins whined, "you must explain this mistake to them all."

"Mr. Collins!" Darcy's voice slapped him like a thunderclap, before dropping into a low menacing quiet. "You interfere in matters above your station. Do not let my aunt's condescension make you think you have place to comment upon _my_ honor and _my_ behaviors. Or to aspire in the slightest way to the hand or interest of _my_ betrothed. I am to marry Miss Elizabeth, and I shall hear nothing further upon these matters from you."

"Oh, my. Oh my." Mr. Collins pulled compulsively at his clerical collar, as though it was choking him. "Oh, she will not be happy. Not at all. And I am here. She will not be happy. She would expect me to stop it — Mr. Darcy, I was told by Mrs. Bennet that she looked favorably upon my marriage with—"

"Silence." Darcy's voice cracked like a gunshot.

Mr. Darcy walked raging past Mr. Collins. It made him to think more kindly, again, upon Elizabeth. It was disturbingly easy to forgive the game she had played against him, and the trap she had placed him in. Especially on this consideration that she would have been forced to marry Mr. Collins by her mother if a more suitable suitor had not presented his suit.

He ought not forgive her so easy.

She did not deserve his forgiveness, and he must remind himself, no matter how sparkling her eyes, or passionate her lips, or sweet the feel of her slenderness and skin beneath his fingers. She was a low scheming woman, with a mind and honor quite below what he had thought.

Of course, he too was far beneath what he had thought himself to be. His self-control and sense of honor and propriety had been tested, and in the testing they had been found wanting.

No one deserved blame for this unwanted marriage except himself.

In his attraction to Elizabeth he had put himself in the position where she and her scheming mother could entrap him, and while she had pretended to "trip" into him, he had chosen to kiss her. Elizabeth had read the mind of her prey, and seen that he could be captured by this she-wolf of Longbourn.

As Darcy entered Mr. Bennet's smoky, musty, and yet bright study, Darcy's determination to think kindly upon the Bennets, as there was no choice, and as he had no one to blame but himself fell away at Mr. Bennet's first angry words.

"Mr. Darcy, you are not so respectable as I thought you." The balding man lightly slammed his palm on the surface of his worn and ink stained desk. "Not so respectable."

Darcy's jaw clenched. To be lectured by _this_ man, this man who had raised such a scheming, fortune huntress of a daughter. Darcy confessed to himself that he deserved the insult, but a man such as Mr. Bennet should be silent. Bingley might speak so to him, or his cousin — he would even rather such an insult from _Wickham_ than this man, whose family was to benefit enormously from the low scheming.

"You were found openly kissing _my daughter_ in the library of Netherfield — not only my wife, but Sir William and your friend Mr. Bingley saw you — if it was just my wife, we would pretend the whole matter never happened, and I could happily toss you by your ears away."

"Ha! You desire to do no such thing."

"Have you anything to say for yourself? Anything to make me view the man who kissed my daughter, openly in a nearly public place, without any courtship, and without having spoken at all to me with less distaste as a son-in-law?"

"I am the victim in this matter." Mr. Darcy sneered. "If you insult me so, you shall find you cannot control me. I shall leave if I am pushed. It was your daughter's scheming, in combination with that of her mother, which brought me to this place. I have been entrapped neatly by them, but for you to further impugn my honor—"

"Trapped!" Mr. Bennet expostulated, and pounded his desk for emphasis. "You kissed my daughter."

"She kissed me."

"I very much doubt that. Her honor I know."

"She maneuvered so that she fell into my arms, and then she kissed me in return. Knowing that her mother, at that moment was waiting to enter the room and catch us together. Neatly done, and I have been trapped by my passion — I could not control such passion, though I ought have. That is my demerit. But I have acted, acted since I was entrapped by her and by my basest feelings, in the manner of a gentleman of honor. I am here, offering myself up to you as a husband for your—" Darcy squared his jaw "—your _clever_ daughter. So take me, refuse me, but do _not_ lecture me upon my how respectable I am. For your family is entirely disrespectable, while I act as a man, who is a man, ought to act."

Silence attacked the room when Darcy finished this speech.

Darcy neatly balanced on both feet with a wide stance, as he had not sat before Mr. Bennet insulted him. The room was warm, and embers glowed behind the grating of the stove.

Mr. Bennet seemed to have gained years in the past minute. His face appeared haggard and tired, with thin grey hairs falling neatly around his ears. He pulled off his spectacles and nervously wiped the lenses with a white cloth produced from a desk drawer.

Mr. Darcy waited, comfortable in Mr. Bennet's apparent discomfort.

At last Mr. Bennet resettled his spectacles upon his long nose, and pulled at one of his sideburns. "So that is it — eh. That is what you truly think of Lizzy?"

The old, wan and _scared_ voice of the man struck Darcy like he had been tossed in a freezing pond, making him numb and shocked. Did he _really_ think this about his Elizabeth? Who had kissed him so sweetly? And then remembering how she had manipulated him through that kiss, his proper rage returned.

"In what other manner ought I to think upon her?" Darcy spoke harshly. It was not his place to comfort the father of such a daughter, though once they were married, he would show her every courtesy and kindness, whilst never, never forgetting that she could not be trusted. "The facts are what the facts are."

"Had I any choice, any choice at all, I would refuse you permission. You two should not marry. Unhappily we are all trapped. After such a scene, everyone would assume the worst about both you and Elizabeth should such a marriage not occur, and for me it would destroy both her possibilities and those of her sisters. So I give you permission — but I beg you. Mr. Darcy, I beg you — think kinder of her. If my dear Lizzy is to be your wife, I beg you, learn to think kindly of her, and learn to see the truth."

"What truth? That my children will be clever in seeking their own ends, and that though they destroy the ancient honor and name of the Darcy family, they will no doubt seduce their way into marriages with Dukes and earls and gain great successes and other forms of base material gain? That they will have that weakness towards passion I have, but also the scheming cleverness of your—"

"That is not the truth of Lizzy. You should know that."

"She seduced me into kissing her. She seduced me such, so that your wife might find us. This is the plain nature of the matter. I am a rational man; I can think nothing else. I shall marry her, sir, but do not expect such a large settlement upon her. Do not expect my happiness in this marriage. Do not expect me to be your friend. Any of the advantages your wife sought to gain for you and your family through this marriage that I can deny to her, I shall. And neither she, nor her cruder daughters, shall ever be welcome at Pemberley or in my other houses, and you may tell Mrs. Bennet, and Elizabeth as well — nay _I_ shall tell Elizabeth — that I will introduce the girls to _no_ rich men, I shall toss them at none of my friends, and in fact I shall warn all my acquaintance against the Bennet girls. But I will do the duty my honor presents before me. I will marry your daughter. I will provide for your daughter. I will see to it that your grandchildren will be the heirs of one of the greatest estates in the land, and so, despite everything I might do, the dishonorable of this world have once more won."

Darcy had not expected to be taken by such passion. He fell silent. Still standing evenly balanced on both feet, though he now wanted to pace or sit down to relieve the stress in his ankle. He would not show any sign of discomfort.

He had nothing more to say.

Mr. Bennet's face showed he had nothing further to add in his turn.

Darcy nodded sharply. "Are matters between us settled?"

Mr. Bennet rose slowly, almost arthritically, though he could not yet be fifty from his appearance.

Darcy realized he did not want to shake his new _father's_ hand, and he suspected from his appearance that Mr. Bennet did not wish to shake his hand. They would not part as though they were friends. Mr. Darcy inclined his head stiffly and fractionally once more. Mr. Bennet inclined his head a little deeper, and without a further word Darcy left the room.

* * *

After Mr. Bennet heard the tale of the previous night from Elizabeth, when they were at last alone without Mrs. Bennet's screeching about how clever her daughter was, Mr. Bennet had been deeply unsettled and worried for Elizabeth.

That was before Mr. Darcy entered his study for the preceding interview.

He should act.

He should prevent this marriage.

Nothing to do. Nothing he could do. He was trapped into giving his consent as neatly as Mr. Darcy and Lizzy had been trapped by Mrs. Bennet and the other witnesses. If only, alas, if only they had not been seen.

He had questioned Lizzy at great length the previous night, and he understood what had happened. It had not crossed his mind before, as his perception had been blinded by the joking tale of Darcy loudly claiming that his Lizzy was not handsome enough to tempt him, but in retrospect the nature of the matter was obvious.

Though their characters were dissimilar and incompatible, an animal magnetism existed between his Lizzy and Mr. Darcy, stronger on Mr. Darcy's side, but the obsessed fascination had been present in Elizabeth as well. No wonder she talked so much, so gleefully about Wickham's likely ridiculous stories — certainly ridiculous stories.

The man who Wickham described would never have acted in the honorable way and made the offer to the poorly dowered girl he believed to have trapped him. Mr. Bennet had never believed that Mr. Darcy acted in a worse way than the average of very rich men. Now he believed Darcy was better than the average of rich men. That was something at least. Perhaps even a great deal.

He would not intentionally abuse her.

Lizzy had been fascinated by Mr. Darcy — for God's sake, what stupidity drew them to talk privately in the library. That was Darcy's fault; it was clear from the story. Elizabeth suggested the library, but Darcy suggested the private conference. And Lizzy said that Darcy had, after putting them both in such a delicate position for the chance to speak, told her no specifics, beyond that Wickham was an untrustworthy, unctuous seducer, which Mr. Bennet could see quite well enough without being told. Anyone could.

Except Lizzy, apparently.

She had angrily mentioned, as an aside, after describing how they had come to kiss, that she was yet resolved to think of Mr. Wickham as before, as Mr. Darcy had given no proof in his allegations against Wickham.

And that kiss, he understood it.

Two healthy young persons, alone in the candlelight.

A passionate animal magnetism between them, which they turned into sharp arguments. The blood boiled, the spirits rose, they were young, alive, full of energetic tension.

Lizzy tripped; Mr. Darcy caught.

Lizzy had admitted, not to Mrs. Bennet of course, but to Mr. Bennet, when they talked in his study while the first glimmers of dawn glimmered against the windows of his room, after he'd managed to put his wife and restless brood to bed, that she had chosen to kiss him as much as he had wished to kiss her.

They had stared into each other's eyes, full of emotion, and she had been wrapped around by the strong arms of a young man — a first time — and she had leaned up her head to kiss him.

And just as she realized the wrongness of her position, and Mr. Darcy perhaps as well, the door had been thrown open, and they had been seen wrapped in each other's arms, passionately grabbing one another with Cupid's barbs.

Mr. Bennet saw no harm in the kiss itself. If the two had been left to their own devices they would have separated before they were entirely carried away by passion. Mr. Darcy, given his stiffness, would have disclaimed interest in Elizabeth, and probably, knowing his character, left the neighborhood the following day to put himself far from the temptation.

Or maybe they would have conversed upon it and decided they wished to marry due to passion, despite the dissimilarity in their characters. Mr. Bennet did not think Elizabeth was such a fool as to marry for the passion for a pretty face and form that had drawn him into his own marriage, but Mr. Darcy was decidedly rich, and he could provide even more benefits for her and the family than Mr. Bingley could, if Mr. Bingley offered for Jane.

After the spectacle of the last night, and with Darcy's promise to counsel his friends against marriage to the other Bennet daughters, Mr. Bennet thought there was a strong possibility that nothing would come of the attachment between Jane and Mr. Bingley.

Did a girl good to be jilted on occasion. Gave her distinction amongst her peers.

Mr. Bennet did not worry at all about Jane. It was Lizzy.

The worst possible situation — the mismatched couple, now despising the passion that was their only real link, since despite Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth both having quick, steady and clever minds, Mr. Bennet could see no real sympathy of the heart, spirit or mind betwixt them, no potential for that attachment mind to mind that he always wished to see for his beloved daughter, and which he thought Jane might find with Mr. Bingley. This mismatched, nay ill matched, couple were now forced to marriage, to the parson's mousetrap, and Mr. Darcy would despise his wife, falsely believing her to have been party to a low scheme to entrap him, and Elizabeth would be placed in the situation of being married to a man with no charm, no liveliness, no lightness of spirit. Further a man who despised whatever affection he did feel for her, and who thought her the lowest sort of woman.

Jove, Mr. Bennet rather wished Mr. Darcy had refused to make the offer out of righteous anger.

Mr. Bennet's insults to him had been subconsciously aimed to drive Mr. Darcy away, since in his conscious mind Mr. Bennet knew he had no choice: Scandal would wreck the whole family if the unhappy pair did not marry. He had failed to set aside any money for the maintenance of his children upon his passing, and thus one of the girls must marry well. And that would never happen if he drove Darcy away.

At the very least, he was sure that if he refused Darcy, the arrogant and angry man would definitely take Bingley with him, and that chance for Jane would be gone.

Poor, poor Lizzy. Trapped in such a situation.

Mr. Bennet's stomach ached when he imagined her stolen away from him — now with no permission to see her mother nor her sisters, though likely Darcy would relent on that matter, and with a husband whose passion would cool once slaked, and turn either into entire indifference or into tired hatred.

He only saw disgraceful ruin or the severest unhappiness for Elizabeth. And there was nothing he could do.

 **AN: So there it is. A Compromised Compromise is a relatively short rule, and the Amazon rule is I can just post 10% of the text before breaking the KU rules. Follow if you want to get the updates when I start publishing it here, probably around mid 2020.**


	3. Chapter 3

Elizabeth woke early in the morning the day after the ball — far too early to wake up after a night where the dancing had continued almost till dawn.

The white paint on her ceiling stared back down at her. She was warm and cozy in bed, covered by several heavy quilts and with the carefully banked embers still glowing in the fireplace. It wasn't even cold today. Stay in bed… stay and never face the bizarre disaster last night had turned her life into.

Elizabeth wriggled back deeper into her bed and closed her eyes, and without intending to let her mind wander there, she relived the kiss. Her stomach shooting up into her throat as she fell. The way Darcy moved _so_ fast, showing that all of his attention had been on her. His tight, warm grip around her hips, keeping her safe and secure. His smooth strong hands swinging her up to stand beside him.

His deep, intense _eyes_.

The sore sprain in her foot, forgotten. His lips on her lips, nibbling, caressing and pulling at her lips.

She had liked the kiss.

This ridiculous marriage could be worse. She could be being forced to marry a man whose mouth she hated.

All a terrible accident.

The rug's fault. Not her fault. Not Darcy's fault. The _rug's_ fault. There, someone to blame who could not defend themself. Once Jane married Bingley, she would make Mr. Bingley burn the rug. Or if he didn't want to destroy any furniture belonging to the house, she would make Bingley package it up and send it to the owner.

As forced and unwanted marriages went, hers was surprisingly promising. Darcy was a clever man. He said clever things about books. And society. He secretly made fun of Miss Bingley all the time, and Elizabeth did not like her either. And she liked talking to Darcy, however much she had pretended to despise his opinions. And there was a strong passion between them.

Elizabeth grinned, and, without really planning to get out of bed, she sat up, put her legs on the thick rug beneath her bed, stood and went to the wash basin to splash her face with cold water.

Whatever he had said when he first saw her, she _was_ handsome enough to tempt him. And except when she wished to tease him, this would be the last time she would ever consider those first words to fall from his lips that she had heard. He liked her very well indeed — _that_ was what all those dark silent looks which he had been sending her meant, they had been full of passion and admiration.

While Mr. Darcy was the last man in the world whom she would have chosen to marry, and while she would have sharply and angrily refused him if he had offered for her hand, now that the matter was a _fait accompli_ , and now that she could _honorably_ and _chastely_ fantasize about kissing him once more, Elizabeth was not at all sure, on this morning following their interrupted interlude in Netherfield's library, that the situation which was leading to her marriage to Mr. Darcy was a bad matter about which she should mourn.

Elizabeth's hopeful mood lasted in full flower until he came to the drawing room from his closeted appointment with Mr. Bennet.

The two gentlemen announced that Mr. Darcy was to marry Elizabeth — that had been definitely decided on. Mrs. Bennet exclaimed, "The Lord has been very good to us! Oh, my _clever, clever_ daughter."

Mr. Darcy bowed in reply every time Mrs. Bennet referred to him and he listened with ill concealed, at least to Elizabeth, impatience to Mrs. Bennet's effusive explanation of how she had always liked him, always thought the best of him, and never participated in the neighborhood's general dislike of Mr. Darcy.

"Men are so changeable — I knew, I always liked you. Even though the first thing you said — your very first words in Meryton had been that Lizzy was not handsome enough to tempt you." Mrs. Bennet laughed. "Oh! You were very tempted by my cleverest girl. Hertfordshire girls are the finest. Anyone will eventually succumb to our charm. Don't you worry — Lizzy can very well manage a house. You'll see. And you can see that she is very well raised. She'll be an excellent mother for your children. She has my example. She will be a mother just like me. You can see how well-mannered all of her children will be from how my children all behave, with the perfectest propriety and sweetness and good cheer no matter—"

"La!" Lydia shouted, bored by Mrs. Bennet's unending stream of words. "What a joke! Marrying terrible Mr. Darcy! It would have been more fun if Lizzy were to marry Mr. Collins, like he planned, but I suppose you shall do better as a brother. But I am _Wickham's_ friend. I cannot believe Lizzy has forgotten our dear Mr. Wickham so easily as that. I shall not."

With a sniffing sneer, Lydia left the room.

Mr. Darcy coldly watched her go, and Elizabeth's stomach churned. He would despise her family so much that he would leave — except she knew Darcy would not do that. She somehow knew that abandoning her after kissing her in front of witnesses simply was not in his character. She somehow knew that she liked his character very much.

"As I was saying, all of my daughters are very well behaved, and Lizzy shall raise yours to be just as well behaved!"

Zounds! Every word from her mother made Mr. Darcy's face grew colder. Elizabeth did not want to see him so angry. She was not sure why. Only the day previous she had been sure she hated him. Now she wanted to protect him from her mother.

She desperately wanted him to approve of her.

"Mama!" Elizabeth exclaimed to silence her smilingly galloping mother. "Mr. Darcy wishes to speak, can you not see?"

"Oh, of course. I would never be one to speak over a gentleman, or prevent him from having the turn to make his opinions known, especially such a happy gentleman, whom I like so much as—"

" _Mama_."

Mr. Darcy smiled, a little ironically at Elizabeth. "I would in truth like to have an opportunity to speak to my affianced with privacy."

Elizabeth's stomach leapt with butterflies.

Sharp clean shaven cheekbones. A finely tied cravat. Muscular shoulders which his riding coat clung to. He wanted her alone so he could kiss her again.

That must be his clever design.

She felt her face flush as she looked at him, and her heart raced.

 _Stop, Lizzy_. He is too austere a man to just want a kiss. He wants to talk about practical matters around the engagement. And the like… And then he would kiss her again.

Mrs. Bennet winked at both of them, broadly. "Of course. Of _course_. Mr. Darcy." She tittered. "I shall leave you two _entirely_ alone. I can _trust_ you both without _chaperone_." She tittered again. "Lizzy! Such a clever girl."

Elizabeth flushed more completely, the red going down her neck and into her cleavage like the previous night. Her mother was embarrassing her. Again.

And with a shutting door they were alone.

Elizabeth demurely looked down at the floral sprigged pattern of their new rug. Mrs. Bennet declared shortly after they had bought the rug the previous year, while Mr. Bennet complained upon the price, that with this rug, even in the worst part of winter, they would have flowers in the drawing room.

Elizabeth could almost smell the red dyed roses.

Her heart beat fast, and her fingertips tingled.

Mr. Darcy said nothing.

He did not move. Elizabeth waited tensely. She secretly hoped he would stalk across the room and take her into his arms with one large embrace and kiss her intensely, like the previous night.

She would always remember falling into his arms like that.

He did not move.

Elizabeth looked up at Darcy. Part of her mind wanted her to stand stiffly and speak to him in a businesslike manner, showing that she was not presently ruled by the passion that had ruled them both the previous night.

Instead she looked up demurely through her eyelashes and smiled in what she hoped was a seductive manner. She bit her lower lip, like the heroine in a novel she had read recently constantly did.

Darcy groaned and looked away. "Do not look at me like that, madam."

"Like what?" Elizabeth said grinningly, now brave. She came closer to him, so close that she could smell his rich scent again. When he looked at her once more, she bit her lower lip once more. "What did you want us to _discourse_ upon?"

He groaned again.

"Well, Mr. Darcy?" She grinned and leaned her head up towards him.

He shook himself and stepped away. But she could tell from how his eyes lingered on her lips, and occasionally dipped to her other attributes, that it was not an easy choice for him. "We must talk about practical matters. Yes. Practical matters."

"Of course." Elizabeth grinned, and bit her lip once more, enjoying the effect that gesture had on Mr. Darcy's attention. "Practical matters."

"Stop looking at me like that!" She had never seen him so flustered. "You'll not trick me again. You have so arranged that you have a rich husband. Your trap succeeded, but I shall not give you any great sum of pin money. You will receive the minimum suitable to your place as Mrs. Darcy."

Elizabeth gasped and stepped away, her hand flying to her mouth. All thought of seducing the still _odious_ man fled. _She_ had planned for them to be discovered? _He_ had been the one to kiss her! Elizabeth spoke coldly. "I do not know what you are speaking of."

"Do not pretend to be innocent."

The harsh tone of his voice dampened, though it did not quench, the ardent fire that burned in Elizabeth's belly. "You _odious_ man. You ungentlemanlike kisser and insulter of women. You think _I_ trapped you!"

"Yes, Madam. You trapped me. It was no accident that right at the moment when we were kissing your mother opened the door with witnesses."

Elizabeth growled.

"Well?"

"You are being ridiculous. It was a coincidence."

"Just admit the truth. You intended to use my passion for you to trap me into marriage."

"Passion? I had no idea you had the slightest attachment to me before last night. You _had_ once claimed me to be too unhandsome to tempt you."

"You should not listen to the conversations of other people."

"And you should not have sneeringly insulted on a public dance floor the entirety of _my_ neighborhood. And then kissed me."

Elizabeth threw back the accusation.

She panted. Like she had when she angrily argued with Darcy last night. _Odious,_ odious man. He was wrong. _So_ wrong. With such fine thin lips. She wanted to shout at him and kiss him at the same time. Hopefully he was feeling the same thing. The kissing part at least.

He was.

She could _now_ read that dark look in his eyes. And then he seemed to actually hear what she had accused him of at last and he grimaced. "Yes. Last night was not the only failure of my honor and self-control. I ought to have made a better pretence of politeness to the neighborhood. I was wrong to fail in that."

"You shouldn't have thought you were above us at all."

"I am above your neighborhood. You now shall be above them too. I shall expect you also to behave as though you are above them once we marry. You should keep distance from those who are no longer worthy of your attention, and—"

"What? You want me to treat my _neighbors,_ the people I have grown up with, as though they are—"

"As though they are of little consequence in the world. Which they are. You can shower them with condescension, but—"

"Lord! If I wanted to listen to _this,_ I would have married Mr. Collins."

That silenced him. Good. Odious man. She didn't even want to kiss him again anymore.

 _Yes, yes you do_.

Darcy stepped closer to her. So close she could smell his cologne and the spicy scent of his breath. He was big and well proportioned, and she loved… uh admired… uh lustfully beheld his Grecian (whatever _that_ meant, but it sounded decidedly handsome) profile, and his strong chin.

"Elizabeth — we can call each other by our Christian names as we are to marry. I just want…"

His breath caught. Her breath caught.

Their faces were only inches apart, and they felt closer. She could just reach her hand forward and touch his lips. She could just lean her face up, and he could just lower his lips to hers and kiss her.

 _Please_.

"Elizabeth." He took a deep steadying breath, though the arousal in his dark eyes remained. "I just want you to admit to me you know it was wrong to entrap me in this way."

"Zounds! You lumbering, lurching oaf!" Elizabeth tried to push him away with her hands, but she just pushed herself instead of pushing both of them. "I didn't trap you! You — you — you trapped _me_!"

Darcy raised one eyebrow briefly in skepticism.

" _Think_. I could not have planned for my mother to enter at the moment when _you_ kissed me."

"You kept a count in your head, waiting for the right moment, so that there would be enough time for us to be thoroughly engrossed in the kiss, but insufficient time for me to remember my position and push you away, and your mother brought the witnesses together, keeping the same count."

"We were in the library for ten minutes! You cannot _imagine_ that my mother could keep a consistent time count for so long."

He raised that single eyebrow again.

"I _tripped_! You were the brute who kissed me."

"You certainly kissed me in return. Do not pretend you didn't enjoy it."

Elizabeth paused, clenching and unclenching her fists like claws.

Oh, if only she could scream to him about how he was taking advantage of a poor helpless maiden who had no knowledge of congress between men and women, and who certainly had not wanted any such kiss, nor participated willingly in their kiss. And who definitely did not enjoy any part of that kiss.

Alas, her mother had taught her not to lie.

"I can too," Elizabeth said at last, with an air of wounded dignity, "pretend that I did not enjoy it. And I always shall — do not expect me to confess that truth. And I did _not_ seek your kiss."

"Madam, I understand your choosing to entrap me in this way. You saw my attraction—"

She sneered. "Ridiculous!"

Darcy didn't have any attraction for her, and he was just pretending to claim he did, to make his kissing her sound less horrible. Elizabeth really had no notion why the strange man was saying he had been attracted. She would never be able to understand him, not even if she had fifty years to study his character.

 _Which you will_.

No. No. No. Not such unpleasant thoughts. He would probably die after only forty more years.

Elizabeth shuddered, uncomforted by her attempt to comfort herself.

Better to think about pleasant things. Darcy supposedly had a gigantesque house with superb grounds, and she'd have several carriages and a great deal of dresses. _That_ is what she should think on, since she was never to marry for love.

Fah! Love! Who needs it?

At least as many poets decried the feeling, and called it madness, insane, not worth the bother, et cetera, as praised the emotion. She could do very well without any love in her life.

"You saw my attraction," Darcy said again, "and as you did not wish to be made to marry Mr. Collins by your mother— " Elizabeth yet another time snorted and sneered. "You offered her an alternative, by entrapping me."

"I would have refused Mr. Collins — this assumes he meant to ask me — and Papa would have supported me. I am by no means persuaded Mr. Collins would have made the offer… He must recognize how ill suited we are."

Mr. Darcy pressed his fine pale lips together into a thin smile, and he raised just one eyebrow, again. The picture of skepticism.

"How do you do that?" Elizabeth asked as she compulsively raised both of her eyebrows several times. "I want to respond with the same skeptical single eyebrow, but it is not working."

Was that a smile? Mr. Darcy kept the one eyebrow up, firmly, but his lips _definitely_ were smiling.

He could be excessively handsome when he smiled. Even if he _did_ think she had _wanted_ to end up in this situation.

"Come now! Reveal the secret. Unless it was something taught in one of those exclusive male clubs where they made you to all bow in togas before a collection of skulls stolen from a museum of medical curiosities before swearing to never share the secret."

"What?"

"Come now, Mr. Darcy — everyone knows that young aristocrats of your sort—"

"I am untitled."

"Aristocratic youths then, of your sort, join the most absurd dining clubs when in university. And that you rule the world with these cabals that determine the next prime minister, the outcome of the wars, and whether or not good Christianity will be outlawed by the Masons. And how to raise one eyebrow at a time."

"Oh! _Those_ clubs. Yes, well, I did not learn the secret there, so I am under no oath to hide the trick from you. But unfortunately, I do not _know_ how I do it. It was a habit of my father's. I must have simply imitated him as a child, and thus gained the skill. Perhaps if you practice in a mirror…"

Elizabeth threw her hands up. "Useless. I am to get an unexpected and unsought — I did not trap you — husband, with the most remarkable and unusual skill, and I gain no benefit from it."

Mr. Darcy looked at her again, with one skeptical eyebrow raised.

Men. Useless.

That smile playing on the edge of his lips was quite handsome. Maybe she should look on the bright sunny side of matters if she was going to be forced to marry this man. Specifically she should look at that smile.

If she could get him to smile like that all the time… she could very well bear being his wife.

"Come, Mr. Darcy." Elizabeth smiled. "We are to marry. We should make the best of it. I am now convinced there will be some excellent aspects to this."

His smile collapsed. "You mean Pemberley."

"No! I mean your smile and the kiss we—" Elizabeth's face flushed. God she could not believe she just shouted that. And Mama was probably hiding on the other side of the door, with her ear to the keyhole, listening to every word they said.

"It takes more than animal passions to make a good relationship. You lack entirely in connections, and wealth, and morality. I just wish you to admit that you—"

"I did not seek to entrap you."

"You did."

Their faces hovered inches in front of each other once more.

And once more the two of them kissed. Lips desperately pressing together, tongues, and gripping of clothes and bodies.

When they paused for breath, Elizabeth added once more, "Did not."

Darcy kissed her once more in reply.

 **AN: So I'll be posting regularly until this book is fully available here. It is already published on Amazon, and is publishing to the other major online e-book stores.**

 **So have fun reading, and keep telling me what you all think :)**


	4. Chapter 4

Darcy was treated to a cold dinner by Miss Bingley when he returned bruised-lipped to Netherfield from his morning kissing call at Longbourn.

Deuced thing with Bingley gone up to London for the next days, was that he was left with his friend's sister who was determined to take the whole matter of Darcy marrying Miss Elizabeth _very_ personally. Not as though he ever had any intention of marrying _her_ no matter how many young ladies of distinction Miss Bingley could Christian name because they also attended that _reportedly_ fine school Bingley's tradesman progenitor sent her and Mrs. Hurst to.

Miss Bingley glared at Darcy from the far side of the food laden dinner table as if he had sinned against her and God.

If Darcy had been found alone in a room with Miss Bingley…

He certainly would never have kissed her. So they would have been found chastely speaking if such a thing _had_ happened. So there would have been no call for them to marry.

The silence was as cold as the food, and her frosty gaze stopped any attempt for anyone else to speak. The cook had set the leftover meats from the previous night's feast out in the cellar, kept almost freezing by the late November air, and Miss Bingley was feeding them back to her party of guests without having allowed Cook to reheat the meat or fat congealed soup.

A symbolic way of showing her displeasure towards him.

Like Darcy cared.

The plates clinked as the footmen ladled cold soup into the bowls, and Darcy grabbed with the large serving fork a healthy heap of cold roast beef and mutton. There was ample freshly baked, still warm from the oven, breads, and cold gravy to dip it in.

He actually liked the taste of finally salted and seasoned meat when it was cold and a day old.

"I would not have left bed," Mr. Hurst peevishly said, "if I had known we would eat the same food as last night." He waved to the footman standing behind them. "Go to the kitchen, and get Cook to prepare a ragout — a decent one. Not like that last. And quick about it. I expect something more than cold meat! This is my brother's house, and he'd be quite disappointed at how I'm being served in his absence."

Miss Bingley rolled her eyes. "I told Cook to not make more food. This is ample for our _guest_." She sharply looked at Darcy, with that orange sour lemon expression she liked.

Darcy laughingly thought to himself: _Ah, the guest. And yesterday I had been family._

It would be rude to say it aloud.

"I'm also your guest," Mr. Hurst protested. "Besides, Bingley put you no more in charge of the kitchens than Louisa."

Darcy happily chewed a charred piece of lamb. If Miss Bingley hoped to annoy him with the simple fare, she would be gravely disappointed.

Miss Bingley muttered to Mrs. Hurst so low that Darcy was quite sure she did not want him to hear — the first words from any of the four at the table, except Mr. Hurst's complaints at the quality of the meal — "in _my_ library. Scorning me in _my_ library."

Who, Darcy wondered, had scorned her? Himself or Elizabeth? Also, _Bingley's_ library.

Mrs. Hurst also glared at Darcy.

"Ha! You really are put out by Darcy marrying a prettier girl than you." Mr. Hurst paused, a bite halfway to his mouth. He spoke to Darcy, "Reminds me, that does. Haven't congratulated you yet. Miss Elizabeth. Fine girl. Fine. The two of you are well matched. You have no need of any dowry." He laughed, and took what remained of the bite after several drops of the gravy had splattered the white silk table cloth. "Not like me and Louisa."

"I thank you for the congratulations." Darcy then added, for Miss Bingley's benefit, "I truly am coming to believe that the constant hunting for the best dowry, and the need to ensure that your partner is the best in status that you can achieve is a cause of great misery, and much immorality and scheming, and many behaviors which we would not wish to admit to before religion."

Mr. Hurst swallowed his meat down with the help of half his glass of wine. "Well said! Darcy, well said." He raised his glass high, nearly sloshing the liquid over the sides. "To marriages of affection."

Darcy raised his glass in return, and they clinked, while the two sisters blank faced stared at the gentlemen.

"To marriages of affection," Darcy repeated.

Was he actually entering a marriage of affection?

"The worst of it," Mr. Hurst added as he motioned a footman to refill his glass of wine, "is when ridiculous disappointed hopes lead to a cold dinner. There is _never_ a good reason for a cold leftover dinner."

Miss Bingley hissed at her brother-in-law. "Those scheming women. I am sure Darcy did not mean to ask Miss Elizabeth to marry him. You do not need to, you do not need to go through with this! Not if you do not wish to. It was a compromising situation she devised. A sign of immorality. She shall be the mother of your children, and their grandmother shall be Mrs. Bennet."

Mr. Hurst laughed. "I dare say Darcy wants Miss Elizabeth full much. Be a fool not to. With her fine, fine…" Mr. Hurst trailed off as Darcy stared with his best intimidating mask at him. Darcy would not listen to Elizabeth's charms being crudely bantered about, not by anyone. "Uh, her mind. Her fine mind… They are both great readers. It was singular how she preferred reading to cards. Singular. Much like Darcy. Don't be a sour Caro."

"So you approve?" Darcy tilted his head.

"Course I do. A surprise, but shows your good sense. Course I approve. You heard Bingley's congratulations. _Everyone_ heard Bingley's congratulations."

Yes. Bingley's congratulations. Everyone _had_ heard Bingley's congratulations.

Why did it have to be _Bingley_ there to see him kissing Elizabeth? Perhaps if it had just been Lizzy's neighbors he could have pretended the whole thing never happened. At least to himself. He would still have needed to ask Elizabeth to marry him, but he would have been able to pretend it didn't happen, anyways. But his closest friend had seen him in that moment of ungentlemanly behavior and passion.

And then congratulated him.

Miss Bingley said bitterly, "You can well imagine how _she_ shall set up camp at Pemberley, always needing to live with her dear daughter, and she will foist her girls on every friend you have, and she will presume on your credit in town, and when they see her vulgar manner, her loudness, and the behavior of your _sisters_ , your good name will be quite ruined. All because that _scheming_ —"

"Do not insult my betrothed."

Miss Bingley gripped her knife so hard her knuckles turned white. It was fortunate that Elizabeth was _not_ present at the table, as she might be in some danger from Sour Caro. He would tell her about how sour Miss Bingley looked when she was faced with the final fact that he would never marry her.

Elizabeth would laugh at the story.

Strange that he wanted to tell Elizabeth about everything suddenly.

But he did. And he liked that he did.

"Are you going to let Mrs. Bennet ruin you?"

Mr. Hurst laughed. "Caro, you _are_ a sour cherry, aren't you."

"I do not intend to allow Mrs. Bennet to ruin anything," Darcy replied. "And I am determined to treat my future family with exactly the respect they deserve."

He stared Miss Bingley down. She looked away and tightened her jaw.

Darcy sawed off another piece from the joint of roast meat. A fine rich gravy, all the better for being cold and fat soaked.

"She doesn't love you. Just your money."

Darcy raised one eyebrow.

"She doesn't," Miss Bingley insisted.

"I am quite certain that Miss Elizabeth has a great deal of admiration and affection for my person," Darcy replied smugly.

Mr. Hurst said, "Hear! Hear! Noble mien. Tall form. Athletic active figure. Any girl would want you."

Darcy looked at Mr. Hurst like he were a puzzle he could not quite solve. Was Hurst making fun of him?

Mr. Hurst amiably smiled and forked another dripping chunk of beef into his wide maw. He brushed his lips with the cotton edge of his napkin.

Elizabeth may have kissed Darcy to entrap him, but kissing him had _not_ been an unpleasant duty for her, and the kisses this morning were entirely because she _wanted_ to kiss him, even though she was angry at his refusal to accept her pretence of innocence.

A line from Lear crossed Darcy's mind, and he reworded the Bard's phrase to fit the situation: His Lady was fair, and there would be good sport at the making of their children.

Elizabeth was a passionate woman with clinging lips and fingers. He understood exactly why Hurst congratulated him, and Mr. Hurst did not even know the half of it. In truth Darcy did not yet either. But he would. He would explore every feature of Elizabeth, and he would touch every part of her, and when they were married, he would not let her leave his bed for — "Eh, what did you say about Miss Jane?"

"I said," Miss Bingley repeated with exasperation, "that no matter what you think about Miss Elizabeth, you cannot want my brother to also be trapped by one of these Bennet girls. I could not stand to see their schemes succeeding so thoroughly that they trap two of the finest gentlemen in the land. One compromised man is quite enough. You must do something to save Bingley from Miss Jane."

Mr. Hurst pushed his plate away and signalled the footman to take it away. He sighed gustily. "Surprisingly good, though cold. Caro, it's Bingley's place to decide. Connection with Darcy's _sister_ would be worth the loss of dowry."

Miss Bingley hissed at him. "Must you be obtuse?"

Darcy remembered the ball the day before. He had closely observed Miss Jane the previous night, and determined that she had no real liking for Bingley. He had planned to warn his friend away from the woman.

His conversation with Elizabeth in the library, and its results had driven all such thoughts from his mind. "You also think Bingley would marry Miss Bennet?"

"His angel! You know how he is. He would forget about her in a week if we made him stay in London. We should all go, we could leave and be safe from any gossip, and tell our friends that it is all lies and—"

"Miss Bingley. I do not know how to make this clearer: I am going to marry Miss Elizabeth Bennet. I will hear no further words against my choice from you."

"You should marry someone with the education and fortune you expect… someone who is a friend. Who cares for _you_. It hurts me to see you taken in and trapped by such a—"

"That was the last time. Further, Miss Bingley, is seems I must speak plainly to you, as hints, and even my engagement, does not seem to be enough to make you understand: you had some hope, I see — though I never gave you anything which could be construed as particular encouragement — that I might choose to marry you. Never did any possibility, not the most miniscule, of such an offer exist. My marriage to Elizabeth is completely irrelevant to what hopes you may have had, as they were entirely misplaced from the outset."

Miss Bingley looked like a puppy that had been kicked. Darcy felt a little guilty.

Half his silver plate of food still sat before him, filled with tasty meat. Darcy had been hungry but now he could not take another bite. He did not like hurting anyone, not even Miss Bingley.

Mr. Hurst said loudly, "I wonder when my ragout shall arrive?"

Darcy stood. "I am taking a ride — when Bingley does return, I will counsel him to be in no hurry, and to be sure of his feelings and of her feelings before he makes any offer to Miss Bennet. My observation showed that Miss Bennet has no particular liking for your brother, and I shall tell him that."

She nodded silently, without looking up at him. Miss Bingley pale facedly stirred the dregs of her white soup around and around.

Darcy would also tell Mr. Bingley to make sure he never found himself alone in a room with Miss Bennet. Just in case. From her appearance he did not think Jane would stoop to such low tricks as kissing him while witnesses waited to spring upon them.

He also had not thought Elizabeth would stoop to such a low trick either.

Darcy took a furious ride that led him ten miles from Netherfield towards London. He stopped when he had rode the horse up to the top of a high sloping hill, and he dismounted at the cold ridge. From here, facing London, it was possible to see in the distance in the cold clear air the smudge of the fog and the curving of the Thames. The individual buildings were no more distinguishable from almost twenty miles distance than the leaves on a tree a thousand feet away were.

Darcy walked Marcus Aurelius, his big stallion, for ten minutes to let the horse calm down from its race before hobbling him in the middle of some rough grasses that the weather had left, and pouring out a small pile of oats for him to snack on.

He always had packed in his saddle bag a tightly stoppered bottle of ink, a neatly cut pen and a pen knife, and a dozen folded sheets of fine writing paper with a hard back to set them against, in case he had occasion to write a letter whilst upon the road.

Darcy took these implements from the bag and sat against a tree trunk. The afternoon sun warmed him.

A pleasant day, despite the season. The sticks of the trees were pretty in the cold clear air. The air was cold enough that after he stripped off his right glove to write, his hand began to go numb, but the day was yet warm enough that he could easily write for a half hour.

He needed to tell those closest to him about the marriage, especially since Mr. Collins would tell Lady Catherine as soon as he returned to Hunsford. He did not want the clergyman to be the one to inform his aunt and cousin — they deserved better warning than that — and he did not want the rest of the family to learn about Elizabeth from Lady Catherine's rants.

Darcy wrote his first letter to his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. In addition to Georgiana's guardianship the two gentlemen shared a deep friendship and confidence. There was no one else to whom Darcy would turn for advice on a matter near to his heart, and about which he yet felt a great uneasiness.

 _I expect my news shall surprise you exceedingly, and I hope this news shall please you some. Except I cannot say for myself whether_ I _am deeply pleased or made entirely miserable. In a word: I have found myself obliged to marry a woman of no fortune, no connections, no family, and little breeding — no that is not true, her manners are perfect, though not those of high society. And I have ended up in this situation through my own lack of discipline, through a passionate failure of control which was quite contrary to my normal habits. But it was her scheming stratagem which made it such that my failure of perfect self-reserve led to our necessity to marry._

Darcy hurriedly scribbled, carefully blotting out each line, to keep the ink from messing his pants. He'd built up a little berm of cold dirt around the inkpot to keep it stable, and he carefully kept from knocking it over each time he dipped the quill in. He had written several times before while sitting outside, and it always was a freeing sensation, to do such an indoors activity whilst looking at nature. Almost as if he were a romantic poet like a Wordsworth or a Coleridge, instead of a steady and sober English gentleman of consequence.

He told Colonel Fitzwilliam the tale: Elizabeth tripping — he would have sworn then that she had truly tripped over the bear's head. Her fall had _appeared_ unintentional. And her eyes. She had been as surprised as he at the feeling in both of their eyes that required he kiss her. At the moment she fell into his arms, he would have sworn her reactions were natural and innocent.

She had been truly passionate. And her anger towards him about Wickham's story? Had that been feigned? Only a strange sort of woman would pretend anger towards a man who she hoped to entrap in marriage.

His understanding of the situation made no sense.

Darcy ground his teeth together.

She had. She had trapped him. And happy as he was — Darcy blinked in shock as the surprise went through his mind. Not happy. He shouldn't say to himself that he was happy. He was unhappy.

Of _course_ he was unhappy.

He was _supposed_ to be unhappy. So he would be unhappy. Even if he felt happy.

He was marrying a woman with, as he wrote, no fortune, no connections, and an unpleasant family.

Darcy was chilled and stiff when he finished writing the story.

He had sat on the rocky ground without moving for a half hour, and part of the root of the tree had dug through his riding breeches until it painfully bit into his thigh. Darcy stood, and he hid his right hand inside his coat, pressing the half frozen fingers against the warm skin of his chest. He enjoyed the partly painful tingles as sensation and warmth returned to his digits.

He put the letter and his writing supplies back in the saddle bag with his left hand. His hobbled horse, Marcus Aurelius, placidly stood near the tree. Darcy pulled out an apple and a carrot from his bag. He took a bite from the apple, and as he chewed it he fed the carrot to his fine stallion, whose lips softly flapped over Darcy's hand as the animal quickly munched away the vegetable.

The stallion poked its nose towards the apple, and sniffed at it as Darcy held the apple away. Darcy scratched between Marcus's eyes and took another juicy bite from his apple before feeding it to the big brown horse.

The horse seemed to smile happily as he finished the apple, core and all, in three big bites.

Darcy walked back and forth over the ridge he'd stopped on. The light was fading, and the sun in the west lit the clouds brilliant oranges and yellows. London was in the far distance, still another two hours ride away, while it was an hour back to Netherfield, and that only if he rode half the distance at a canter.

It was time to start back if he wanted to be back at the estate in good time.

When Darcy returned to Netherfield, before he bathed and changed for supper, he sat down for an extra ten minutes to finish his letter to Colonel Fitzwilliam:

 _I solely want_ one _thing. Merely_ one _thing from her, and then we can happily plan and discuss how we shall live — for I believe that the two of us shall get on well together, and I have become more convinced the more I think upon it that in person and temperament we shall fit excellently. Had she fortune and family, I would have offered for Miss Elizabeth without any need for such encouragement._

 _I am no longer so unhappy about her mother and her sisters, nor even her relations in trade, relations who I shall require her to weaken the connection with to the greatest extent compatible with proper family feeling. I am to marry_ her _. It will be her kisses I wake up to, not her mother's dull witted complaining._

 _I am committed to ensuring that the Bennet family profits as little as possible from their successful scheme. I have agreed to marry her, and so I shall. But the settlement will give Elizabeth nothing beyond a minimum of security. There will be enough pin money for necessities — I am no barbarian, and if she practices economy, she shall be able to purchase all accoutrements needed for a woman of Mrs. Darcy's stature, and ample other luxuries, but I shall put nothing towards her beyond a few hundred pounds per annum. Anything else she wishes, she shall need to tell me of the desire._

 _My understanding from discussions within the neighborhood is that Mr. Bennet has impoverished himself by always accepting his wife's demands to spend. And to spend. And to spend again, on ridiculous matters, when they should accumulate dowries for their daughters, like reasonable parents faced with an entail. Even were he to have a son, it would be a crime against future generations to break the entail, as Mr. Bennet no doubt intended to, so that the girls might have dowries._

 _They should set money aside._

 _If Miss Elizabeth expects_ me _to be manipulated into spending upon her every whim in the manner that Mr. Bennet is by his wife, she shall be greatly disappointed._

 _But that is not a matter of importance. We are sensible adults. Both of us. We can discuss and agree reasonably upon matters of spending._

 _The_ one _thing I want, before I can be happy in this marriage, is that she admit the truth. I am an honest and forthright man. I despise deception. I want her to simply say that she meant to use my passion to trap me in marriage. To admit that it was a stratagem._

 _That is all I want._

 _Your captured cousin,_

 _F Darcy_


End file.
